The Girl in the Floral Dress
by floralfloral
Summary: Have you ever found something on the street and innocently decided to keep it? What if it belonged to someone that had been murdered? And you couldn't remember exactly what happened that night? Would you go to the Police? That's exactly Sam's dilemma. She knows she had something to do with it. But what? And then there's the blood!


A Cop me once said to me...

'If you feel like you're being watched, then let me tell you, Sinister knows what your next move is going to be even before you do!'

I felt myself shudder.

Monday September 10, 2012

Two Days Prior to Floral Dress

It's the first day that I remember feeling such depths of feeling of complete and utter darkness. Thick black sludge washing over me. The kind that is buried deep within one, rearing it's abominable head. Clawing its way out. Out of ones mirky soul. It just lingered around like a dirty old Sloth. For this, I was no black molten mesh trapping its prey unawares, only to keep tightening it's grip.I couldn't breathe.

I kept waking up gulping for air. The feeling of plunging...falling...hurtling deep into an abyss. Darkness slowly gripping me. Fear. Fear of...? What was it? Something, something...so black, I couldn't see...couldn't quite put my finger on it. But I knew it was there...I just knew!

I must have dozed off again.I felt the warm glow from the morning sun bathing my eyelids, rousing it was around seven, from where the rays streamed through the slightly parted drapes. I liked the curtains just that way. Complete darkness gave me the heeby it was to do with that night...soo long ago, yet it was buried in every cell of my body.

But it was morning. Amazing how everything starts to melt into normality with the sanity of imagined last night! Jack always said I had an overactive imagination. What was it that he said?

'Sam you need to get your arse out of your head. And join the living for Gods sake!'

At the time, I didn't have the gumption to correct him. That it was meant to be 'head out of my arse', as his Irish explosions once hilarious, becoming 's weird how once what was endearing at the 'honeymoon stage' of a relationship,becomes fucking irritating when dilapidation starts to seep in. And then, there's no reprieve after that. Try hard as one may. No amount of 'couples counseling' was going to resurrect this 'mother fucker' I vomited at him. The other thing this destruction had done to me...made me potty mouthed. I can't recall four letter projectiles prior to the 'Mr and Mrs', but now, it was my staple go to! I challenged my Counsellor once when she proclaimed 'nobody can make you feel that way Sam unless you want to'.

'Oh, that's just sanctimonious of you...what would you know with your bureaucratic theories anyway?!'

'I sense a lot of hostility in you Sam.'

'Fucking right you do!'

I had stormed out, sure she was going to refer me to another card board cut out. But she didn't. I'm not sure if she was more disappointed or I, for keeping the next appointment.

Trying to roll over, hauling my legs over the bed, half slumped. Oh my God. Jeepers ba-jeepers! Thumping headache. Thud, thud , thud...excruciating. Every bone in my body creaking with pain. As if someone had flung me across the brick wall. Looking down, right palm anchoring me...the bed was wringing wet!

Before I had time to contemplate, sloppy wet licks administering my AM kiss of life. 'Sorry Mooch', slurried apology totally undeserving of his frantic tail wagging. Typical! I had dislodged him off the comfy end of the bed with my ungraceful uprising. Most nights after pawing for chest rubs,he would finally settle on his cherished cushion at the bottom of my feet. The comforting white ball of fluff, ready with his deep growl at anyone venturing too close to the front or rear of the house. Other times, the loud snore could be mistaken for a drunken man sleeping off his over zealous consumption. I couldn't remember hearing either during the night.

'And where were you last night Hairy Face?' tickling his ear, big brown eyes liquid delight melting any remnants of darkness. Rolling over, beckoning for the obligatory morning belly scratch. 'If only you could talk...' sighing at the impossible.

Grabbing a handful of shameful boxes from my bedside table, busting them open with an urgency not dissimilar to that of an insipid waiting for their next hit of Molly. Gulping down Nurofen, Panadol and Voltaren...ignoring the minutely printed instructions: adult dosage 2! One needed a magnifying glass to make anything of it anyway! I was still alive! Wasn't I? Plus didn't the youngsters of today devour these like M&M's? Mel from my old job shoved the sheath of Panadol back when I thanked her returning the remaining two, 'Oh, Goodness!' look of mock disapproval. 'Come on', gently pushing the mangled silver foil back. 'My Gen.' takes the whole lot...what's two going to do for you anyway? And nobody I know has karked it yet!' shrugging with the invincibility of youth. I had half a mind to remind her, that her nineteen, some fourteen years my junior, guaranteed a fortified constitution. And that my Gen' dabbled in other stuff. I knew this would have shocked her. The geeky looking, thick spectacled Alanah Hill florally oddity, was the office IT nerd. I'd heard the mumblings from my desk. And as it was known, all IT nerds...were weird! A breed of their own. But no matter. I preferred the ramblings of my own inner monologue instead. Yup! I disliked conversing! Most of all...to people!So no point wasting my breath on that. Truth be told, if I was honest,I actually disliked people. Full stop!

So, I moved. From job to job. Eighteen in the last six years. I'd lost count, but Jack never failing to remind me of my 'job tally' every time I took up new employment. For one thing I had to be thankful; IT! At least in IT, nobody cared about longevity. Staff came and went through the constantly revolving door. As long as one stayed to task on a project, nobody gave a shit! And let's face it, I wasn't the only strange thing in the IT fraternity. If I really stopped to ponder it, I think IT actually chose me.

I eventually gave up even saying the rudimentary 'Hi' and 'Bye', in my last job. For months, not a soul noticed, or uttered a word to me, while I tapped away at my computer one algorithm after another, rectifying some arseholes ambitious delivery of a project well before time. Someone's pocket lined with a hefty bonus for sure! The errors, unsurmountable. Costs escalating to more than the entire scope of the project. Pretty sure, somebody up there was covering their arse by plugging the gaping hole with the likes of me and some other misfits. But nobody had asked me, thank goodness, so I kept tapping away. Nine months on, this was the longest I'd stuck it out in any job. It may have to do with the corner cubicle. Conveniently located next to the kitchen and toilet, I could slide in and out at the most opportune times, avoiding any human contact. With my head down, most staff didn't even know I was there. Intermittently, I'd cringe at a loud shout across the floor

'Is there a Sam here?' as a well suited Government official walked around with a piece of paper in the air. Painstakingly,what seemed like hours later, unfortunately the Suit would finally make its way to my desk.

'You Sam?' always with the same surprise to find a girl and in IT!

'Yep!' wishing the Suit would fuck back off from wherever he came so I could return to languishing in my morbid headspace.

'Can you please sign this Bluey for the Board meeting today?'

I squiggle the blue paper containing my monthly costing for error fixings.

'Is this correct?'

'Yep' you Moron 'that's my initial signature on the first rounds' you Dipstick, if you'd bothered to look!

'I can see. Bloody horrendous! Is it going to come down?'

'No.'

'Never?'

'No.'

'Why hasn't anyone ever told me this before?'

I stared at him, because they're all fuck-wits, dick-brains covering their arses,ducking for cover...He was new.

'Not sure.'

'Ok' more to himself, then staring at me, 'I'll need you to attend the Board meeting with me next week. Can you prepare an annual cost analysis for these errors please?'

'No.'

'No? You can't or no you won't?' I daresay, I notice the surprise.

The latter I wanted to blurt out.

'No I can't attend, I'm just a Contractor!'

'Who the f...said?'

'Its Company policy!' Now just fuck off and leave me alone! Getting irritatingly uncomfortable at the most conversation I've had in my entire lifetime!

'Not anymore...I'll get Mary to set you up for the meeting.'

Turning around marching off as I barley caught the mumble

'First bit of fucking honesty I've heard!'

Oh, thank God, as I glare at my iMac, at the screeds of numbers staring back at me. Somehow, unable to focus. I knew, I was unnerved by this disturbance in my equilibrium. All that riffraff was upsetting my apple cart! At the back of my mind, a week to figure out a way to dodge the bloody Board meeting...

'Oh, what did he want?' Two blondes, centre parted hair pasted perfectly to their heads, peering at me over my cubicle with ease.

'Who?' Fuckers

'Don't you know?'

'Nah.'

'He's the new CEO.' At my blank look.

'Handsome...right?'

'If you like that kind of thing!'

'Spunk and dunk.' Not sure which one said that, as I stopped looking at them.

'Can you leave? I'm busy?' Without looking up, I sensed the shock and felt the hasty uncomfortable steps, retracting into the distance.

The two lanky beauties were the 'I'm in control' type. I was the last person they would be seen talking to, so why start now!

Then out of the blue, at the end of that week, an invite in my outlook for morning tea on Monday, "to thank all for a successful launch of the new billing system." Fuck You, Fuck Off...bloody farce, I stared in disbelief. As the day wore on, my decision becoming clearer. Mind made up. I hung around until six, after everybody left, chucking all my things in a box. Nearly jumping out of my skin...

'Anyone would think you were leaving!' Mel smiled with that concerned look. Where the hell did she come from, knocking my phone off my desk.

'Just stripping bare, for cleaning' not looking at her. Staring at the smashed iPhone on the floor.

'Oh dear' scooping it off the floor 'I'll take it to IT for you in the morning'.

'NO!' flinching at my abruptness. 'I'll take it to my local Serbian guy to fix tonight' my softer tone somehow satisfying her.

'Sure...see you tomorrow' footsteps fading in the distance.

Of course,I didn't go back. Fuck'em!Ignoring the insistent ringing...peering at the phone, caller ID displaying that familiar number. Then in a flurry of panic, had a thought they might send the Police around; so emailed Mel a one liner.

'Not working there anymore, let Tim know.'

Dispensing off all formalities and cordiality after all none of the bitches or arseholes cared. I couldn't stop feeling terrible about Mel though. She was the only one that had made any attempt to be kind to me. And as for the Board meeting, Will (whose name I was told later) was grown enough to handle it himself! Isn't that what they pay him for! And, anyway, four weeks on, care factor was zero.

Recalling the numerous lonely months, I had starved for lunch, as they all scuttled off to the canteen. I remember looking up one day realising I was the only one on the floor. Later I heard them all discussing the group lunch...I should have cried, but I couldn't, I was used to being alone. Left behind, so there were no more tears. Alone was what I did well.

Pile of empty, almost empty torn, busted packets strewn on the bedside table. One day...one day soon. I will tidy up. When the need to gorge on tablets for survival dissipates. Until then, thank goodness for fast acting! I got up pressing my thumb and forefinger around the edges of my nape, feeling the tension ease.

'See that Moochy Pie, trying to strangle oneself has advantages. Common bubby, breakkie.' second invite unwarranted, as the excitable wet nose nudged at my heel trotting down the narrow passage to the needn't remind me of his presence, of all things in this world, he was the only reason for my being. For even bothering to drag myself out of bed for. The lucid parts of the day were taken up with furry 'to do's': food, bathing, grooming, pooh shoveling,with the occasional walks somewhere in the mix. Most days he was the only one I spoke to, aside from those bloody persistent foreign telemarketers. Despite my one syllable responses, I'm pretty sure I was on someones speed dial for 'time share' in some remote part of the planet. One thing I knew, Mooch was my lifeline. Without him any semblance of 'normality' would be taken by my foreboding darkness. My overwhelming all consuming depression.

Leaning over the sink, I pushed open the kitchen window, slightly, just enough for slithers of breeze. Fastening it with the old iron safety latch. The old rusty bit attached to the upright side of the windowsill. 'A bit of fresh air Moochy' his eyes glued to my every move as I tiptoed to the top kitchen cupboard, peering at the depleting stock of 'My Dog'... 'need to stock up Moochy Pie, three cans just won't cut it!'. Wagging now fanning in peak excitement as he madly cantered around in circles, doing his 'food foxtrot.' One of my favorite parts of the morning.

'There you go poppet.' bending down to place the bowl on his spotted Karen Walker place mat. A vestige of my old life! Straightening,I felt the gust of wind on the back of my neck. Hairs on my arm soldering upright, poised. Something not OK! I spin around staring at the the window; wide open. No way...can't be! Not possible. Leaning over to peak out, nothing. Instinctively, I make a dash for it, around to the side of the a soul in sight. Just the morning silence. Deathly. Not even a whiff of breeze!

In the narrowest of space, between the neighbors house and mine, a skeletal frame would be hard pressed to squeeze through. Certainly not enough to fix any housing maintenance issues, unless Lucy (the English challenged Greek neighbor Lucia) agreed access via her property. Fortunately for me, failure to chit chat viewed favorably, as 'not so nosy, quite neighbor.' It wasn't uncommon for houses to be built square to the boundary on Inkerman Street. With land such a premium in these parts, only a 15 minutes train journey to the heart of Metropolitan Melbourne, it attracted constant Developers who were quick to block the already narrow streets. The old cliche 'time was money' ruled this seedy neighborhood. Poised, bursting at the seams to cleanse off the no hopers, one brush stroke at a time.

Walking back in...maybe I did open it out wide, I wasn't so sure now. Something niggled at me though, I couldn't put my finger on it. And it wasn't like me to do that normally. I always tightened the latch at the first notch. Surely, Mooch would have barked. Or growled at least. He was a great companion, and above all a perfect guard dog! I stared at him polishing the remains of his breakfast, shaking off any doubt. I always felt safe around him. Plus Jack always said I harbored a deathly imagination. It was running riot...nefariously! You see being alone can do that to kind of thing to ones mind...it scared me!

Tuesday September 11, 2012

One Day Prior to the Floral Dress

Oh just another glorious day in my life! Not! Up with the larks at seven, rays streaming in. Again feeling bloody exhausted. That eery dark feeling hanging over me. Bloody dreams...nightmares! Bed all messed up, saturated. Mooch frantically licking my face, then rolling over for his belly scratch. It was then I noticed, the mud between his paws.

'Hey Moochy, what's this?' gently separating the pads beneath his paw, scooping out the dirt.

'Where have you been?' there was no dirt in the grounds of the house. With a verandah out front, deck and paved courtyard out back, it wasn't from here! We hadn't been for a walk...that feeling of someone being around creeping in.

My head was killing me. That pounding thud, thud, THUD...I simply will need to get a handle on this, grabbing the concoction of tablets from my bedside, throwing it down.

'Ok, OKAY.' the melting eyes, signaling time for trudged off down the narrow passage. Reaching up to open the cupboard, I really need to get on with that shopping, I thought. In a few days he'll be out!

Making a mental note to jump online on Coles today...or maybe tomorrow...food will be here the day after...loads of time. Giving the four sugars in my tea a brisk stir, before swigging it down.

Today my depression was at an all time high. That heavy feeling in my chest. Head being weighed down by a ten ton cast iron. Fuzzy, dizzy, blurry eyed all on queue. Swallowing constantly. Fighting back the tears. Stroking Mooch, in desperation to will it away. Standing up. Sitting down. Getting up. Down again for the umpteenth time...then pacing the passage for a change...like a caged animal. Try anything, anything for it to work. Just need for it to go away! Mooch at my heels, initially thinking it was a game. My somber silence soon sending him off.

Eventually I followed, finding him curled up on the sofa with his ball. Wagging his tail at me

'I'm so sorry Mooch, Mama's just struggling today! Nothing to do with you baby...you know that don't you?' his licks on the back of my hand making me feel like an outright useless bitch. I plan to be a better Mother. He deserves better than this...my inner struggle bouldering like a malignant tumor.

A ping on my iPhone...nobody ever contacted me!

'C u at 3 for a kick ass sess my lovelies' xxx Shell.

Ah...That! Transfixed. I stared at it for ages. A hand reaching to drag me out of my cesspool.

'K!'

Text back...with that niggling doubt...we'll see what happens by ...not sure about this.

Thinking back, I'm still vague on how I got into this. I detest exercising with venomous toxicity. Let alone be subjugated by the gym...with all those buffed-up slaves! Buggery...I couldn't think of anything bloody less desirable. Now it was about the only times I left home and actually uttered few words to an unsuspecting lycra junkie. On Doctor Algia's insistence 'exercise is good for you Samantha, with all those endorphins, you don't need Valium.' I bloody think not. I'd bequeath servitude to pill popping any day!

'Anyway, what would you know with a name devoted to inflicting pain! You're on the wrong end of nominative determinism. They should resurrect the Hang-woman role for you at Barwon Prison!'

She smiled 'Very good Sam. Not many people would pick that up! Anyway it means just pain, so I'd like think of it as helping to manage pain instead and not inflict.'

So, she didn't see sense in my verbose logic. In the end, I acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. Secretly, I had plans to visit the geriatric Doctor adjacent to the gym, kept afloat by the colorful neighborhood. I'd heard whispers at the gym that he dispersed meds like candy. My kinda fella...but the dingy hole with its perpetual queue of Insipid's and Muscle Bounds thwarted my desire for stealth. I was patient, I'd just have to wait for an opportune moment.

At 2.30, I managed to drag myself into the shower, telling myself 'this will be good for you Sam.' Fastened my hair into a wet ponytail. I was almost starting to feel human. My wardrobe possibly the most underused on the planet! Everything hung neatly, sectioned, ordered for goodness knows what! With the gym gear easily locatable, I squeezed into the Adidas, bid cheerio to Mooch, headed out before I had the opportunity to recede into my darkness again. I was also thankful for the brisk walk through the back alley. The great thing about the 'liquid all sorts' in St Kilda East, one could venture out dressed in anything or nothing for that matter. Nobody cared! I once saw an 'in-betweener' with a beard, red dress over jeans and bright yellow court shoes, as ill fitting as Minnie Mouse's clogs. Not a care in the world at the curious gazes he/she was attracting, happily clanking along the pavement. Yet another time, a man squeezed into a superman suit much like a bulging sausage that has been boiled for too long bursting out of its skin, busily bicep curling at the gym. Appraising himself in the floor length mirrors that I disliked with a passion. Happy as Larry. Here lay my mission in life, to be deliriously happy, with a fuck off attitude. I'd managed to secure the latter, the former eluding me despite the consumption of little white things. Now, if only for the Valium...

This was St Kilda East. Seedy and dingy in spots, with palatial homes in other parts owned by the Jewish community. Keeping much to their own, venturing out in on Fridays in droves with their top hats and side curls. The little boys, picture of cuteness. It was well known they owned the now prestigious Carlyle St. Once a dilapidated strip of shops, now a a trendy buzzy hangout for the YOLO generation. I'd heard whisperings at the gym that the likes of SJP, Rachel Griffith, Guy Pearce, had made their rounds to the cool eateries. I'd never really been to any. Or maybe correction, only one, the famous 'Hole in the Wall'. A butchery conversion with chunky metal tell tale signs deliberately left on view. They made the best coffee and the most cherished of all, staff always remembered your order. Great for me, as no exchange of dialogue warranted. Mooch also loved to sit outside and sniff the comings and goings of other furry bottoms. I owed him that much. Bottom sniffing collusion was one of my rare activities.

I always felt uneasy walking through the back but like my darkness, the somber crunch of the uneven cobblestone was an ally. Today two teenage boys, deathly pale, were mulling around, stamping in their Doc Martins from side to side, with unease.I scurried past, avoiding eye contact, noticing a pile of syringes at their feet. This was not uncommon, as the back alleys were often littered with needles. All efforts to keep St Kilda clean by the local Police proved fruitless. CCTV cameras trashed daily, often having to play footsie around the shattered was commonly referred to Dealers as the 'blackout zone'. It was still possible to be in the heart suburbia and be off the grid! Almost as if there was secret society working to maintain these techno free spots in St Kilda East! You got the feeling parts of the neighborhood were holding its breath, hoping the housing market would squeeze them out.

'Common common' Shell waving us in to start running the circuit, hanging out at the entrance door. She was not one to waste time...'I've got to get results for you too, you know...' elbowing me affectionately as I bolted in joining the group. I could not help but like her cheery enthusiasm. She was bubbles personified. I think, much like IT, Personal Training had chosen her. She was a natural with people. One could tell by the way people swarmed towards her like bees to a honey pot. Even my awkwardness recognised this. Over time she had cleverly grouped us in fours for personal training sessions. This way she could ensure somebody turned up and 'cheap for all of you.'

Weird how it worked out. All four of us looked very similar. Shell had this innate sense of propinquity. Her 'Do Gooder' Mumsiness to 'lets's all hang out together one day. You all need to come to mine. We'll eat, drink...and then we'll dance. But a major work out session first ladies!'

I don't know if they ever hung out, I must have zoned out. And she didn't seem to mind my mumbled staple excuse of 'have a deadline that I need to work on.' Anyway, she couldn't have been further mistaken in this lookalike group:

-Blonde

-Medium length hair

-About 156 to165cm

-30 to 35 years old and

-50 to 57 KJs.

Apart from Tracey, who was the slimmest, most attractive and tallest, we were all was married with a six month old, Baby Rose. Nobody questioned her as she was always in a mad flurry to dash out, almost as soon as she arrived. She was twitching to leave.

'Can't stay long. Gotta dash, Baby Rose needs feeding...and so does Hubby.' She was off before the others had a chance to say goodbye.

She lived around the corner from me, separated by the alleyway. I had spied her with the husband once in their backyard, while crunching down the alley with Mooch. Both playing with the baby, before they slammed the gate shut. No doubt thinking I was one of the Insipid's (I was pretty darn close)! He was blonde and equally chiseled as her, both a pair to be admired. Baby Rose, perfectly endowed with bouncy strawberry curls. Amazing, how much you can tell about someone without ever having to speak to them-aside from the casual Hi and Bye.

After that, I began to notice things about them. How she would air her Alanah Hill dresses on the clothes line every week. Her dresses were always expensive, all current season (unlike my discounted ones). She had exquisite taste. The floral dresses were delicately beaded, a trim size eight, no doubt! As soon as she hung them out; around10 am on Tuesdays, from first just noticing them, I started taking photos with my iPad. Then I would trawl online to match them, taking note of how much she paid. After a while, my obsession turned to buying the same dresses some two weeks later, when discounted. Then I did the unthinkable. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn't help my voyeristic self. After one workout session, I overheard her updating her email address as I walked past. The Receptionist, double checking 'Oh so it's traceysmythe ...com?

'Yes.'

I came home and before I knew it, I was in her Alanah Hill account. It always amazes an IT weirdo like myself, no matter how many times one is told 'do not use common identifiers as ones password', people still pooh pooh it. So of course her password was 'rosepetal1234', 'gagging to be hacked' I blurted down at the innocent looking Mooch. Anyway, there was no harm in this, right? I kept reassuring myself. Now I could see what dresses she was ordering and when. It didn't deter me from taking photos on Tuesdays. Incase a previous purchase made an appearance!

On Wednesday's she took delivery of her Coles groceries after mine at 3 pm, through her back gate. Baby Rose would be perched on her angled right hip, as she waved the Delivery Boy in. I imagined her putting the shopping away neatly in her pantry, labels facing would play outside with Baby Rose most evenings (except Thursdays) as I heard the goo goo gaga from my back yard. Probably sipping a bottle of Moet Chandon, French doors flung open to the mandatory Aussie barbi. Late Thursday afternoons, she would kiss him goodbye...

'Give my love to your Mum and enjoy her Pork Pies.'

How he sometimes waited for her in the car after the workout on Fridays when he returned from his Mum's. She would bounce into the sleek black SLK, give him a lingering kiss, much like that of two new lovers. Maybe that's where we went pear shape, Jack and I. I had started to hate Jack once I became obsessed with his infidelities. After that, the thought of kissing him had become loathsome to me.

I entered through the back as usual, greeted by a very excitable Moochy Pie.

'Oh hello you. And I missed you too! Cuddles.' Picking him up as he heaved himself towards me.

'Getting podgy my luv, just like Mamma!' As I walked up the passage to the front of the house, I could feel the back of my hairs on my nape stand up. The feeling that someone was in the house. We walked through all the rooms. No growls from MP. so I shrugged it off, again. I didn't trust my instincts anymore, after all I was a diabolical mess. One of societies rejects. Pill popper! Depressive no hoper...and the name ramblings in my head could fill pages upon pages.

Moochy turned his nose at his favorite chicken and rice...most unusual as he loved his food. I would have been worried, but he seemed fine and in good spirits. A tad bit round! Anyway, I had Frequent Flyer Points at the Vets. Whipping Mooch off to see Paul if a whisker was out of place. I didn't care about my wellbeing, but his was paramount to me.

'So who's been feeding you?' I looked down at him, tail wagging.

For gods sake, Sam, he's only a Dog!

Wednesday September 12, 2012

Floral Dress, Day 1!

This morning started like any other. Pounding headache. Throwing down my obligatory trio of pills. Mooch pawing at me for his belly scratch. We headed off down to the kitchen for 'My Dog' and four sugared briskly stirred tea.

I'd been hallucinating again last night. This time I thought I saw a blonde girl standing at the end of the bed Deathly still. For what seemed like hours. Just staring at me. I tried to move, but my limbs were heavy like lead. Weighed down by something. I couldn't see under the covers. Clammy, sweaty, debilitated with I thought I saw Mooch wagging his tail and realised that I must have been dreaming about myself. I must have dozed off again as the next thing I remember was Mooch pawing. Weird! Pretty sure Hershel will psyche the shit out of this one! Something to do with my displaced self! I couldn't very well argue with that one could I? I had a chuckle to myself.

After feeding him I mulled around pretty much all day. Mooch parked himself in front of the Plasma, barking at any four legged for invading his territorial space. I also liked the noise of the TV, it felt like there was someone else in the house. Don't get me wrong, I liked being alone, but it seemed necessary to look 'normal' to the world. Plus it muffled the creaks from next door.

Jack and I had been ecstatic six years earlier at the winning bid on the had scoured the net, been to numerous auctions, only to be out bided by an over zealous Developer. Property in Melbourne they kept resounding that it was a 'Sellers Market', like it was a person with it's own mind! We couldn't wait for the turnaround. We were newly marrieds ready to make a home. Finally we managed to get the duplex. Both oblivious to why the property had been on the market for so long. Gleefully,on a warm Saturday afternoon we signed the paperwork and to our surprise the Agent handed us a set of keys. After he left, Jack gave me with that quizzical look. The one which I was the only women on earth to understand. He gently pushed me against the wall parting my legs 'what say we make the house ours Mrs O'Riely?' I giggled into his collar bone, hanging onto his toned shoulders. Just the thought of him desiring me made me giddy. I didn't care where he wanted to thrust into me. He then turned me around as I anchored myself on the wall, dress off my shoulders and up my hips, bunched at my waist. I howled as I couldn't wait anymore for him to come up from his kneeling position, begging him to 'fuck me please'. Sex was never the problem with Jack and I. And for Jack, with anyone else! After all that was how we started. And I'd often thought, it was the only reason we lasted so long.

We'd been in the house for four years before the 'twin duplex' finally got sold. And then we started hearing the twins every noise. The house which had been one once, protesting its separation. The new Moroccan neighbors were as fiery as their Targine delectables. Jamila was a tanned stunner. Cork screw curls, tall with that JLo butt and purry French drawl. Always a glass of wine in one hand and cigarette in the other. She didn't deserve that body, my jealousy taking over. He was the Al Pachino kind. Some forty years younger. With the chunky gold rings and burgundy Rolls Royce to complete the ensemble. Somehow, she took me under her wing. I think she had it in her that I needed rescuing. One day (a year after Jack and I separated) she bolted in as I barely had the chance to open the door to her insistent rapping. Clutching a bunch of exotic herbs and smoky incense, she marched from room to room.

'This house needs cleansing. You watch he'll be back!' Giving me a bone crunching side hug

'You me, same same. Jam Sam...Sam Jam. Love love.'

The CK daisy dukes and white tank was gone with the trail of heady smoke wafting behind. Before I had the heart to tell her that I didn't want him back.

Now the creaks had become somewhat comforting. I was living with someone, but I was by myself. Much like our marriage in the end.

It was afternoon before I jumped online to see if Tracey had placed an order. I'd slept next to Mooch most of the day, occasionally getting up for his Smacko's and tea for myself. By five that afternoon, my Tracey addiction was on full throttle. She had just ordered the black spotty, dress. Bit different this time, more ruffled than beaded. I placed an order as well. I scrawled through the Tuesday pictures, satisfied that I had all the dresses she'd hung out that week.

By now, the starving Mooch was hot on my heels as I went from room to room drawing the curtains. Yanking the drapes in the front room, I noticed something strewn on the white picket fence. Peering through the slit curtains, it looked like some type of fabric. It wasn't unusual to find to find things left or taken from the front of the house. The drug, alcohol induced, grabbing a rose bush, dumping their empty stubbies, pizza boxes, as they staggered past in the had tried the CCTV, but it proved to be foreplay for the exhibitionists and kept getting trashed. After deleting copious porn tapes and sweeping umpteenth chipped glass,we acquiesced like the rest of Inkerman St. Possibly...nah definitely the worst day was when someone had taken a dump in the pokey front garden. Heaving, I plugged my nose with a clothes peg trying to pick it up, but the stench was too much.I've scooped countless dog poohs...but a man's shit...is vile!

In the end, I waned and phoned Jack

'Sure, I'll be down in ten minutes.'

I hadn't asked him where he'd moved to after that heated argument and that Final Departure! I remember sitting in the lounge feeling numb, as he stamped around chucking things in his gym bag. Face set square with anger. Momentarily, I wondered how there ever had been love for me in those eyes. The soft smiling eyes, the mischievous grin...The crash of the front door jolting me, like a cold slap on the face...and then deathly silence. After, what seemed like hours, I struggled up, walking around from room to room aimlessly, in a daze. It's as if death had entered the house. Nothing would ever be same again.

If hadn't been for Moochy Pie nuzzling at my toes, who knows what I would have done. That night, I slept in a feotal position on the lounge floor, ball of white fluff snuggling into me, licking my tears.

Decision made-to ignore the fabric on the fence. Whatever! Knowing with the dithery passerby's frequenting the strip well after 10pm, it would be gone! With that, both Cuddles and I curled up on the sofa in the lounge at the back, to peruse mindless trash. The problem with that was,my mind wasn't distracted by the Plasma. I kept thinking about the dainty piece of material.I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something not quite right about it. It made my head ache trying to dig deep into the back of my head, as I just stared at the TV...where had I seen it? But nothing!

Through the sliding doors, I could see Tracey's back yard twinkling with fairy lights. Giggles and laughter. The smell of barbecued sausages accompanied with the searing sizzle of meat being flung onto a hotplate. The usual Wednesday goings on. Jamila and Al Pacino on their heated 'bust-up' rounds today. Screeching on top of her head, she accusing him of the dilapidated state of the house. He marching out, parking himself on the garden bench, sobbing like an inconsolable baby. 'You treat me like shit!' was all I had been able to make of his explosion as he stormed out. The rest was high strung French gorgeousness. Probably not for them. I had been a witness to this numerous times. The tirade would continue for a couple of hours before she would coax him back in. Then the grand finale, her shouting 'fuck me harder, harder...yes, yes...YES!' I was convinced they got off on this...why else would you put yourself through this gutter? And I knew (two years on) their relationship was as spicy and unpredictable as their food.

After a while, I began to hate the house. The noise, the lack of privacy, cooking smells wafting through...it was driving me insane. I was on edge all the time. It didn't help the situation with Jack and I. Not that we needed to play the blame game on anything but US! Towards the end, admist the volatility, both Jack and I agreed that it was time to move on. Now, it was up to me. With the guilt worn all over his face, Jack had finally agreed for us to finalise the paperwork with the Realtor. It had taken everything I had to get him to to this place. The hatred and argument in the end had destroyed any bit of sanity I had left. I was a fractured human being. And I wasn't sure if I could piece myself back together again. Especially since I was already tattered to start with!

Try hard as I might, I could not escape that niggling itch. That fabric was sooo familiar. I reassured myself slipping into bed that evening, it would be long gone by now. In the proud ownership of an appreciative inebriated.I needn't worry about it anymore.

That night, the hallucinations were darker than real than ever. I saw myself standing at the end of the bed. Wearing a dress...the dress from that fabric. I saw Mocchy standing next to me, with that excitable wag in readiness for his favorite word 'walk'! He than began dancing around. I could hear his toe nails clicking the floorboards. It was loud, amplified, pulsating in my eardrums. Then Moochy started to follow me out, click clack, click clack, click clack. Fear jolting me into incoherent and coherent thoughts all jumbled up at the same time. Must get up and put a lead on Moochy. Otherwise he will take off into the darkness. But I never walked him in the dark! I tried to get up, but it was impossible to move my my arm, my legs, my body... 'Moooo' slurried, I could barely sound his name.I felt I was dreaming, but it all seemed real and unreal at the same time. Then he was gone with me in that dress. I felt the warm tears flowing down my cheek onto the pillow. I couldn't lift my head off the pillow, but I could see Mooch wasn't there! I struggled for what seemed like hours, trying to move, knowing I couldn't feel Moochy at the end of the bed. My heart sinking in total despair, but I couldn't stay awake. What was wrong with me? I knew I was a mess, but this was...I just couldn't think straight anymore. My body was no longer my own. My mind hadn't been my own for quite some time. I had been able to survive this, just barely. But not to be able to cope with taking care of Mooch, I knew that would be the end of me. I had to get myself together somehow for Mooch's sake. I no longer cared about myself. Unable to...I kept dozing off. The next I remember, glow of the sun on my face, streaming in and Moochy devouring my face. Sloppy licks.

'Oh Poppet' squeezing him so hard he yelped

'Sorry...sorry...' undeserving of his unconditional licks

I hauled myself over the side of the bed, sure I was going to pass . Head swaying. Splitting.

'Bloody migraine again Mooch.'

Managing to hang onto the side of the bed, I made my way, tottering towards the door. Once in the passage, I slid across with my back against the wall. Sure I was going to pass out any minute. Barely managing to keep myself together , I knew I had to. Mooch kept jumping up, trying to lick my face.

'Mama will be fine soon, Bubs.' more reassuring myself

I must be coming down with something. I hadn't even been able to muster up the effort to dump my life saving pills down my throat this morning. Must take them a bit later, when I start feeling better. But I was beginning to doubt that. I will have to drag myself to the GP and Hershel. Considering the way I parted last time, I was surprised Hershel had accepted my appointment. More strength to her, I say!

I managed to get Moochy's breakfast out. I was beginning to worry as he turned his nose up to his favorite chicken and rice. Both Mooch and I would have to be off to see our respective medical people.I'd have to get onto it once the head stopped pounding a bit. I could call Jack, I thought. Anyway, where was he? I'd catch a glimpse of him somewhere during the week. Not sure what was happening. he said he was going away for four five days and would be back. That was last week on Wednesday. Apart from that yellow sticky, the recycled note, there was nothing. He had responded to the text though, so maybe I was being a bot melodramatic along with my hallucinations. But he didn't answer when I called and hand'r returned any of my calls. Most bizarre. I did what any sane thinking IT person would do next, tracked his phone locator. But it was off! Which puzzled me even more as Jack had no idea how to disable this. He was clueless when it came to things like that. I'd often have to set things up for him and then give him lesson on 'how to'. I recall how frustrated he had been setting up the iPad I gave him for his birthday. After looking at it disinterested, he chucked it aside shrugging his shoulders. Once I set up his email, showed him how to take photos etc...he was off. I was surprised when he sent me an invite for friendship to his Facebook. Then it was like driving a car for him, little by little making more sense. But disabling, he wasn't up to that yet...or was he? he was in love and I was continually surprised with her openness in keeping the 'relationship' with me.

'I only come because of Mooch, Sam. And she knows that. Anyway, she knows if she can't cope, than it's up to her. I made a commitment to Mooch and I'm not letting him down!' When I finally decided to ask him what she thought. I wasn't interested in her, but I was interested in the 'woman' who was going to be in Mooch's life, I did not hesitate to inform him of that.

'I know Sam. I know what Mooch means to you...and he means the same to me!'

After that, I had no need to discuss the 'custody arrangements'. I'd never doubted Jack with Mooch. Despite our disagreements, we were always on the 'same page' when it came to Mooch's wellbeing.

Mooch threw up, what looked like tinned food. I picked him up, consoling him. Now I was really beginning to worry. I hadn't fed him any tin food for the last three days. Jack had just taken him for a walk and he shouldn't have fed him. He would always let me know when he did.

I gave Mooch a quick wash, dried him off with the hair dryer and placed him on the couch, fluffed up on his comfy cushion.

With gloves and apron on, armed with antiseptic, time to tackle the manky looking mound of throw up. Peering at it closely, my suspicions confirmed. Definitely not chicken and rice I'd been feeding him lately. And definitely not any tin food I'd ever fed him. My messed up head trying to order the comings and goings of Moochy Pie. I didn't have a social life, that didn't mean Mooch was docile too. But I couldn't work out when Jack would have fed him? Plus he was nowhere insight. If it hadn't been for the yellow sticky, I wouldn't even know that he had been! I will need to get to the bottom of this with Jack at some stage. Clearly this was unsettling for Moochy, I reassured myself that this would be my only reason to talk to him.

After the sterilisation, I headed up the passage to open the blinds, curtains. By now in desperate need to be bathed by the morning light. Hopefully this would make me feel better, like Mooch. I almost fell back,not sure whether it was my the state of my constitution or my gob smacked surprise at the material still perched on the fence.'Oh' was all I could muster up. What now? This was most peculiar. Why, I can't understand why it hasn't it been picked up? This was Inkerman Street...after all! Nothing gets left, even a cracked vase gets picked up. I had tested this once, so I knew. Everything in me was shouting not to, but I couldn't stop. Well, I'll just have to bring it in. It looked like it was beginning to mould itself into the shape of the fence. Can't say I'd seen that happen before. Well there is a first for everything!

I picked it up and no surprise it was slightly limp from the morning dew. At this time of the morning the street was usually silent. Even deathly. After the late nights, it was as if all of Inkerman decided to recover from the seediness night and I were the rare inhabitants that stayed in and rose early! The weirdo...not him...just me!

I picked up the material and almost immediately realised it was a dress. At first glance, it looked exquisite. Some kind of silk thingy. There was something expensive about it. I could see that it was lined with silk, the most palest of yellow, the look of soft butter. I had the urge to smell it...Chanel No.5 lingering. Oh my, it had class written all over it. An Alanah Hill girl can tell! I had been haute coutoured by my mother from a very early age, money or no money! Bringing it closer, I peered at the neckline for the label.

'Oh shit!' almost falling backwards. It was a Christian Dior. I had never seen one up close. Or even touched a CD. Not that I didn't want to. But I remember always feeling uneasy walking into one of their stores. I'd seen his dresses on a mannequins in Orchard St in Singapore. Even taken a photo outside like any adoring tourist. Knowing that I would always be an admirer not a wearer. I'd seen dresses by him in magazines, on TV and the Fashion shows. Despite how delicate it looked, the weather had been kind to it. It was in perfect condition. I don't know if I even had any conscious thought about it or not, but next I know, I just picked it up like it was the most natural thing to do and took it in. In that very instance of stepping into the house, its as if I had crossed the boundary from lost to found, from abandonment to ownership. It was now mine!

'Hey Mooch, look at what Mama's found?' Gleefully at having won the lotto equivalent! Feebly raising his head and attempt to wagging his tail. Not his usual bouncing up curiosity to sniff, and me having to keep the dress out of his way from tearing it with his thick claws. This was an unwell Mooch... 'It's ok bubs, its for me anyway.' His disinterest now apparent as he rested his head on his cushion, eyes following my every move, tail still.

Mind made up. 'A definitive action Sam Malle...good for you... I'll have it dry cleaned, wear it'. Wear it around the house! Serenade it with the slow sexiness of Barry White and a glass of rose Moet and Chandon splashed in the Vera Wang silver stemmed a first date, I could feel the flutter of excitement. This was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in a long time. A very long time! As I held the dress against my apron, spinning it around. The Swarovski like crystals waltzing with me on the walls, trapping the sunlight, revolving glittery splashes creating my very own Studio 55!

Thankfully today was not marked in my recurring calendar 'gym with Shell :('. Unfortunately for Hershel, my erratic endorphins hadn't transitioned my emoji to :) and unlikely to do so anytime in the near future. Or ever! Anyone would think my outlook was jammed packed with appointments...actually I can't ever recall a time where I had more than one filled slot a week under 'personal'. Again it would be slouch around on the couch day. A quick check in the kitchen cupboard, plenty of tin food for MP.

But today was going to be different. I could feel the excitement building in me. I was distracted by this damed dress hanging in the laundry. Like the prospective first date, I couldn't wait to get back to my new acquisition. I jumped online, surely a dress of this pedigree would have been worn by some famous skinny tart! There was a niggling familiarity to it. But I just couldn't put my finger on it. I'd probably seen it online at some stage...it looked like the Haute Couture type. Blingy but classy. There was class written all over it.

At about 9 am Mooch perked up so I had to drag myself away from my iPad. I knew I'd have to take him out for his bout of furry bottoms just to cheer him up.


End file.
